Some years ago, I went white water rafting on the Zambezi. We set off on the Zimbabwean side of the river, from just below the Victoria Falls Hotel. There were six boats in all. Five were huge dinghies, paddled entirely by the guide taking the party down the river. The sixth was a smaller dinghy which had to be self paddled by everyone in the boat.

My friends and I reached for the paddles and took command of the smaller boat. Five of us already knew each other, we had been camping in the bush for ten days.Those five were myself, my husband, Malcolm, our English friend Rob and two Zambian friends, brother and sister, Peter and Jacqui Castle. Apart from our guide, a six-packed, excessively beautiful American called Dan, there were only 2 others in the boat. Two sisters from Medellin, Elizabeth and Consuela.

 

We were given the briefest of practices in the calm water near the hotel. There were only 5 principles and they were:

1. Always hold on to your paddle with both hands
2. Whatever you are faced with, never stop paddling 
3. If you do stop paddling, you or someone else will probably fall out
4. If you do end up in the river, Dan would throw you a line to pull you back to the boat
5. Oh, and do not stay in any longer than you have to, you are sharing the river with crocodile

So off we went. Rob and Dan were in the front of the boat, because they were a similar size and weight. Then myself and Consuela, then Jacqui and Elizabeth, then Malcolm and Peter in the stern. They were the biggest men, so technically were meant to supply a bit of oomph…

 

As we got to the first rapid, the noise of the water was unbelievable… the sound of a typhoon in a wind tunnel… As we got closer we were faced with a stark reality. The water fell away steeply in front of us, a drop of approximately 12 feet. Simultaneously, there was a wall of water that rose about ten feet above our heads. 

Rob froze. He looked as if he had been captured by time lapse photography. His paddle was raised to pull but it stopped in mid-air as he took in the prospect of being sandwiched between two walls of water. I screamed at him to paddle, but to no avail. Those behind me told me that I slid sideways into the water as if in slow motion.

I can only describe what happened next as mind-blowing and terrifying. I was sucked into the middle of the rapid and pulled through it under water at the most incredible speed. All I could hear was a rumble that sounded like thumping static, beating as hard as the adrenaline coursing through my veins.  I could see absolutely nothing at all. I did not even know which way I was facing. Up or down. Forward or back. I was just beginning to really panic when the current threw me up into the fresh air again. I heard a shout from behind me. I turned to see Dan throwing me a long line with astonishing accuracy. I grabbed it and he began to haul me in. The rapid had regurgitated me approximately 150 yards ahead of the boat.

That experience was enough to give me a very healthy respect for the river. I did not want to go in again. From there on in, I ratcheted my voice up several decibels, like a megaphone, and screamed at the others to paddle for all they were worth. And it worked. For the next four runs any way, but at the fifth, we hit a particularly turbulent stretch of water. All of us were thrown around remorselessly, and I felt a clunk on the side of my head, but, more by luck than judgement, we all remained aboard.

 

It was hot and my hat was sticking to my head.I was aware of a trickle of sweat running down my cheek. I put my hand up to wipe it away and was puzzled to find that it came back red. It was at that moment, in the middle of the Zambezi river, that Malcolm shouted, “Stop the boat! My wife is bleeding!” 

Clearly this wasn’t an option. We pulled in to the bank to check the damage. The huge bump on the side of my head, black and green eye, and gash across my right cheek were evidence of why you should grasp your paddle in BOTH hands. Consuela had let go with one and had clocked me on the  head with the end of it. I had  an instant headache, visible war wounds, and a bloody T shirt, but was absolutely determined not to change boats, despite numerous people offering to swap with me.

We sailed through 3 more rapids, before anyone went in the water again. This time all of us did. The water was such a relief. Luxurious and cool after hot, hot sun, until we remembered the crocodiles. On another occasion, all of us got out of the boat and climbed round the headland on foot, allowing Dan to bing the boat through a really difficult and dangerous rapid alone. It was astonishing, the boat appeared to surf through the water, with Dan wielding the paddle with nonchalant, but highly studied grace. 

 

The rest of the trip was a blur. The climb out of the ravine was exhausting. I had a headache for about a month, a black eye for four, bruises all over my body and I still bear two small scars near my right eye where the paddle hit me. Would I change a thing? Hell, no!